


Your Weight On My Fingers

by katherineerosee



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: 412Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 18:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6577390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherineerosee/pseuds/katherineerosee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Where are you right now? Are you with Kouki?” He was breathless again, coat fluttering around his frame as he rushed down the poorly lit stairwell of their apartment building.</p><p>“Ah, yeah I’m with Furihata right now, we’re at the hospital, but-”</p><p>The phone snapped shut in his hand with a loud click as his feet pounded against the pavement, a sharp pulse thudding through his head in time with his quickened heartbeat. <i>Kouki. In the hospital. He’s in the hospital. Kouki is in the hospital with three of our friends and I have no idea why.</i>  </p><p>#412Domestic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Weight On My Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this one's for Akashi Furihata Event Domestic, which I was kindly invited to! I apologise that I wasn't able to publish this on AkaFuri day, but, assignments are a bitch, so, yeah. Sorry! 
> 
> The prompt for this lovely event was 'domestic', and well, I hope I covered that. 
> 
> Anyway, The AoKaga and MidoTaka in this fic are quite minimal, in fact, they're really only there because I'm apparently self indulgent trash. Whoops.
> 
> Disclaimer: Kuroko No Basuke is owned by Fujimaki Tadatoshi, not myself.

_We don’t have any plans tonight, do we?_

His fingers itched in his pockets, nails scratching against palms, the rough material of his duffle coat warm against his frigid skin. It had been almost an hour since he’d sent that message, plans of a romantic dinner date on his mind as he waited for his long-time boyfriend to answer. What was taking him so long? Even when the other man was at work, he still answered at least within half an hour. Why was now any different?

Worry was gnawing at his stomach, a heavy knot pressing against the inside of his ribcage. Was he hurt? Lost? Did he need his help? The questions swirled in his mind, knocking this way and that inside his skull like enraged wasps until the clicking of his heels against the cracked sidewalk pavement snapped him from his thoughts to his surroundings. He realised, belatedly, that he was a few streets away from his and Kouki’s third story apartment, rushing through the quiet, dusk bathed streets of suburban Tokyo. His hand curled around the silent phone in his pocket and squeezed until the metal groaned, when his eyes flickered up to the dark windows of their shared apartment.

Judging by the deep orange glow shifting across the white-washed buildings, it was well past five o’clock; the time Kouki left work. Why wasn’t he home yet? He always arrived home before Seijuurou did. That knot against his ribcage grew into a heavy rock that fell into the pit of his stomach. He practically flew up the stairs – he decided to forego the elevator when he saw the group of chattering middle aged women clustered in the metal box; if they laid eyes on him he _knew_ they would question when he would marry that _mousy young man_ and when they’d be _getting grandchildren_ – and his hands shook more than he would admit when he jammed the key into the worn lock.

“Kouki?” His voice echoed in the empty, dusk-lit apartment. He eyed the maroon pea coat on the coat rack and the worn black sneakers placed neatly beneath it. “Are you here?” He walked through the short hallway, eyes flickering to the framed pictures on the walls as the burnt orange light caught on them. Scenes of their years from high-school through to college gleamed at him in the light from the lounge room windows, and brought a twitch to the corner of his mouth.

As he stepped into the kitchen, he noticed the half cut carrot resting on a chopping board, a large knife lying next to it and a bowl of crisp, green beans sitting on the counter. A half-filled glass of tepid water sat next to the sink, the water sparking against the strips of light flooding through the half-closed wooden slats of the blinds. A large stainless steel pot sat on the stove filled with what appeared to be vegetable stock, and the faint yellow of the downlight dyed the liquid a speckled sand colour.

“Kouki?” He questioned again, more quietly this time, as his eyes flashed around the perfectly lived in, perfectly empty apartment.

The vibrating of his phone in his coat pocket was a shock to his bones, but he would deny vehemently that he jumped where he stood. The last message he sent Kouki flashed through his mind, and he quickly wrenched the device from his jacket. “Hello?” He asked breathlessly, not even bothering to check the caller ID.

“Akashi,” a gruff, clipped voice answered, the sounds of shifting fabric and steady beeping almost lost in the background.

“Kagami?” His fingers curled more tightly around the phone at his ear, his feet shifting nervously on the shiny linoleum flooring. Why was the red-head calling him? Did he know where Kouki was?

“Yeah,” he heard the squeak of a chair and muffled voices beneath the rushed sigh the returnee huffed into the phone, “it’s me.” A few moments passed in relative silence, Seijuurou waiting for an explanation as to _why_ the other red-head had called him, and Kagami waiting for the flurry of questions.

“Well?” Seijuurou snapped after another moment in quiet, “why did you call me? Because if it’s for something trivial, I’m going to hang up. I have other things occupying my time right now.” He was sure the stress was bleeding into his voice and burning it raw, but he had no time to waste if something had happened to Kouki.

Kagami released another heavy sigh before he muttered into the phone, “Aomine and I were at Kuroko’s place earlier and we got a phone call from Furihata,” he felt cold dread coil in his stomach, and felt his feet fly under him to the front door, even though he didn’t know where to go yet.

“Where are you right now? Are you with Kouki?” He was breathless again, coat fluttering around his frame as he rushed down the poorly lit stairwell of their apartment building.

“Ah, yeah I’m with Furihata right now, we’re at the hospital, but-”

The phone snapped shut in his hand with a loud click as his feet pounded against the pavement, a sharp pulse thudding through his head in time with his quickened heartbeat. _Kouki. In the hospital. He’s in the hospital. Kouki is in the hospital with three of our friends and I have no idea why._ Streets vanished beneath him and within moments he was facing the electronic double doors of the closest hospital.

“Yes, hello, is Furihata Kouki here?” His voice was wispy and hushed in both nerves and wheezing breathlessness as he addressed the frazzled receptionist.

“Furihata Kouki? Hmm,” her painted fingernails tapped swiftly at the worn keys, tired, hazel eyes lit up by the bright computer screen, “yes, he was admitted an hour ago, he’s in room 109.”

He muttered his gratitude under his breath as he hurried over to the elevator, weaving in and around the people milling in the reception area. He tapped his foot impatiently on the warm brown tile floor of the elevator, and the heavily pregnant woman beside him shot him a glare. As the elevator dinged for the third floor his heart jumped into his throat and settled there. Why was Kouki in the hospital? What _happened_ to him?

Room numbers flashed past him, and before long he could hear the voices of his ex-teammates chattering to each other.

“So he just hung up on you?” Aomine’s low murmur rumbled through the open door, “he must be stressed then.”

“Yeah, didn’t even let me finish.” He could almost hear Kagami’s pout from the hallway.

He swept into the room, his hands clutching at the doorframe to keep his feet from sliding, and his hair a haphazard flurry of crimson. “Kouki.”

His eyes caught the brunet sitting up on the bed, a bandage wrapped around his ankle and a sickly purple bruise across his temple. His caramel eyes were hazy, and his hair swept across to one side of his head, but he sat relatively coherent and unharmed, and suddenly the knot in his chest vanished entirely.

“Sei,” Kouki muttered softly, a faint pink blooming across his cheekbones, one hand coming up to rub at the base of his skull, “sorry about the wild goose chase.”

He released a huff of air and eyed the other people in the room; Aomine, who was lounging in one of the pale wooden-framed chairs, one hand stuffed into his jacket pocket, and the other rubbing circles onto the back of Kagami’s hand, Kagami, who was standing by Aomine’s side and watching Akashi with an annoyed pout, and Kuroko, who was sitting on the edge of Kouki’s bed with his hands folded in his lap and his azure eyes caught on him.

“That’s alright, Kouki,” he said softly, stepping over the threshold and swiftly striding over to the brunet. He grabbed the other’s hand in his own and stroked over his pulse point. His eyes shot up to Kagami’s and held his stare, “my apologies for the rudeness, as you can imagine–” he eyed the contrast between Kagami’s sun-kissed skin and Aomine’s dusky complexion where their fingers intertwined, “–I was worried.”

Kouki gave him a little grin, his fingers tightening around the red-head’s, his cheeks brightening as he brought his free hand up to cover his eyes, “really, sorry about this, it was nothing.”

“What happened?” Seijuurou took the chair nearest to Kouki’s head and settled in it, never releasing the other’s hand as he did so.

“Well,” Kuroko’s monotonous voice was sharp in the quiet room, like the sudden clang of metal in an empty factory yard, “it seems that Furihata was cooking dinner for you and spilled some water on the floor. When he went to clean it up he slipped and sprained his ankle.”

“He has a bruise on his temple,” his head swivelled between his lover and his long-time friend, a question dancing in his crimson eyes.

“Yeah,” Kouki’s voice was muffled behind his palm, embarrassment obvious in the small voice and hunch in his slim shoulders, “I, uh, um, kinda fell back and smacked my head on the sink. That’s why the nurses want to keep me overnight; to make sure I don’t have a bad concussion.”

“ _A bad concussion?_ So you definitely _have_ a concussion?”

The brunet pulled his hand from his face and waved it frantically in front of Seijuurou’s face at the concerned tone, “it’s only a small one! They just want to make sure. Really, it’s nothing!” A crooked grin pulled at Kouki’s thin lips, flashing bright teeth and cute dimples.

“Kouki-”

“I’m fine.” His smile was softer this time, hand squeezing Seijuurou’s again. “Really.”

“Well, as adorable as this has been, we must be off,” Aomine’s lazy drawl interrupted the peaceful quiet that had overtaken the room, “Taiga and I are gonna head home, ‘kay Tetsu?” He straightened from his slouched position on the chair, pulling himself up and across the room, tugging Kagami with him. He turned and looked at Kuroko over his shoulder, “we’ve got a date to get to,” he winked and swept out of the room.

Kagami sighed heavily at the man’s antics before turning and eyeing the amused glint in Kuroko’s eyes, “we’ll see you in a couple of days, Kuroko,” before he turned and gave Kouki a kind smile, “feel better soon, Furihata,” and he too swept from the room.

“You should probably be heading home, you two,” Furihata’s tone was almost doting as he eyed the two quiet men, “it’s getting rather late.”

“Of course, Furihata,” Kuroko’s voice was calm as he stood and brushed the wrinkles from his cream coloured cardigan, “you need your rest, after all.” He eyed Seijuurou as he sat comfortably in his seat. “Are you coming, Akashi?”

His eyes flickered up from where he was staring at the pale skin of Kouki’s wrist, “no, I’ll be staying,” he said dismissively before his eyes flashed back down again.

Kouki frowned before sharing a look with Kuroko, thin eyebrows furrowing underneath his loose fringe. “Sei, you should go home, you’ve obviously had a long day.” He watched as his lover’s eyes narrowed in displeasure, “I’ll be fine by myself overnight. It’s not like the nurses won’t be watching over me.”

“Yes, but-”

“I think Furihata needs his rest, Akashi. He’s also had a long day.” If Kuroko was anyone else, Seijuurou was sure there would be a frown on his pale lips, a disapproving note in his smooth voice.

Seijuurou’s eyes flared in irritation, “It’s not like I’ll be keeping him up,” his eyes narrowed further, “I just want to keep him company.”

Kuroko’s look was long and significant, and for a second fluttered down to his left jacket pocket, and suddenly Seijuurou’s neck was covered in a sheen of cold sweat. “We should let Furihata rest. You can visit him tomorrow.” His voice was softer now, but his eyes danced with something that had nerves writhing in Seijuurou’s stomach.

“Yeah,” he answered rather weakly, prompting a confused stare from his brunet lover, “okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, love.” He muttered, before leaning over and placing a chaste kiss on the corner of Kouki’s lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sei.” Kouki was both confused and concerned, but let the matter sit at the amused look Kuroko sent him over Seijuurou’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

As the two swept from the softly lit hospital room, the red-head stared at the other man from the corner of his eyes, “how did you know?” he asked through barely moving lips.

Kuroko’s eyes flashed slyly up to his, “you’re very easy to read, Akashi.”

* * *

The left pocket of his duffle coat burned a hole into the black wool of his dress pants, and caused his hands to shake as he twisted the key in the lock. The apartment was as empty as he had left it; the yellow downlight of the stove still illuminating the swirling, flecked vegetable stock in the stainless steel pot, the warming water growing stagnant in the tall glass, the sharp greens and oranges of the vegetables bright against the coffee coloured counter. Despite the earthy, balmy tones of their home, the apartment felt alien without Kouki’s soft smile and warm caramel eyes.

“I’m home.” He mumbled under his breath, toeing off his polished dress shoes at the coat rack, and hanging up his russet hued duffle coat. He lifted his hand and ran his slim fingers through his short crimson hair, ruffling it and scratching his fingernails against his scalp. It had barely been half an hour since he had left Kouki in his hospital room, and yet he already felt the ache to pull the shorter man into a warm embrace and bury his nose in the other’s soft sandy hair.

He padded into the kitchen and continued making dinner as Kouki had, all the while considering just how comfortable the two had become, how domestic they were now _._ Maybe Kuroko could see that too, maybe that was why he seemed to approve. Seijuurou hoped that was what it was, and not that he knew something Seijuurou didn’t. He was nervous enough as is.

He set a bowl down at the small mahogany table, and took a thoughtful sip of the warm broth as his mind settled back to his duffle coat pocket, and what it meant. What decisions he was about to make, what decisions _Kouki_ was about to make. The broth was warm and comforting but tasted of nothing as his thoughts drifted and the faintest sounds of traffic reached their closed apartment windows from the city.

He didn’t recall finishing his dinner, or setting the dirtied dish down in the sink, but soon he was sliding into the half empty bed. The quarter moon hung in the sky beyond their bedroom window, the pearly white moonlight streaming through the wooden slats of their chocolate coloured blinds and dancing across the creamy coloured wall beside him.

He tossed and turned until the light of the moon was shining on the wall opposite to what it was originally, when he finally decided to get up and grab the object of his nerves. His hand slipped into the pocket of his duffle coat and closed around the small, black velvet box there. He turned it over in his palm, contemplating what could have possibly happened if everything had gone according to plan early that night.

He would have sent that text, and Kouki would have answered quickly, confirming that they were free – he had made sure of that many weeks in advance, but he didn’t want Kouki getting suspicious – and he would have arrived home to Kouki, curled on the couch reading a book, or sipping tea and watching television. He would have swept the brunet into his arms, and charmed him into dressing in his finest clothes under the guise of a spontaneous date night. He’d have walked hand-in-hand with him to their favourite restaurant – a tiny little traditional place where they had their first date, a place of soft, warm lighting and peeling cream coloured paint, of sweet green tea and warm tofu soup – and they’d have gazed at each under the low-hanging lights of their favoured table and laughed at well-worn in-jokes. They would have left the nostalgic place behind and walked over to the park where Kouki first told Seijuurou he loved him, and sat under the not yet bloomed cherry blossom tree and gazed at the lovely quarter moon. Seijuurou would have turned to his lover and told him the truth – that Kouki held Seijuurou’s heart in his hand, and Seijuurou’s entire universe was in Kouki’s mocha hued eyes, and the other mushy, corny crap that Seijuurou had heard Aomine mutter to Kagami under his breath when he thought no one was listening that Seijuurou never, ever thought he’d understand – and he’d offer him a ring and a promise to never leave his side. A ring that Seijuurou currently held in his hand.

“Well,” he sighed quietly in the dark entrance way, “I guess I’ll just have to find another time to do this. It _will_ be perfect.”

* * *

_I just read your message, I’m sorry I didn’t answer last night, Sei. As you saw I was a bit…occupied. They’re releasing me from the hospital in an hour, could you pick me up? I can’t drive until my ankle is healed, and I don’t particularly want to hop around on the train. I love you._

His phone vibrated on the bedside table, jolting him awake from a silent slumber, eyes blurred and grey edged as he listened to the reverberations of his phone on the wooden surface. He eyed the stripes of dawn-bright sun across the cream ceiling, the flutter of powdery particles in the air above his head, the ashy line of dust along the side of the ceiling fan blade. He clumsily patted across the surface until his fingers curled around the chilly metal of his phone. His eyes ached as he stared at the bright screen of his phone, the few hours of sleep pounding at his temples and skull in revenge.

_It’s okay, Kouki. I’ll be there. I love you too._

He stepped out of the shower not ten minutes later, shrouded in steam and shivering slightly in the crisp January air. He shuffled about the apartment, pulling on his well-worn black jeans – that Aomine had said made him look _more human_ – and the warm, khaki coloured pea coat that Kouki had bought him on their first year anniversary. He eyed the little black velvet box on the counter, the colour stark against the beige surface, and felt nerves swirl and tug at his empty stomach. He snatched the box off the counter with a quick flick of his wrist and walked swiftly down the front hall, snagging the keys out of his hanging duffle coat pocket and replacing them with the velvet box. He gave the pocket of the coat a quick pat before stepping away and out the door.

The walk from his door to the street was uneventful – aside from the skipping of the elevator again, there was a horde of nosy women who would no doubt pester and poke at him, and his patience was running thin as is; those few hours of sleep were hitting him harder than he thought they would – and before he knew it he was stepping into the tiny corner shop florist, red camellias on the mind.

* * *

“Are you about ready to leave, Kouki?”

He was standing at the lip of the hospital room door, the brunet facing away from him as he packed the clothes Kuroko had brought him into his bag. He whirled around at the sound of Seijuurou’s voice, face lighting up as he spotted the small smile curling at the red-head’s lips and the bouquet of red flowers half hidden behind his coat.

“Sei,” he smiled that warm smile that curled his thin lips up like a bow and caused dimples to form on his cheeks, the smile Seijuurou fell in love with many years ago. He limped over to Seijuurou, wincing slightly as the heel of his injured foot tapped against the bleached linoleum floor, and curled his arms around the other’s neck. “I missed you,” he chuckled into the red-head’s shoulder as he gently bumped his nose against Seijuurou’s throat.

“I missed you too,” he placed a light kiss on Kouki’s caramel locks, “but we must be going, hmm?”

“Indeed.” A deep, smooth voice spoke from just behind the two, alongside the tapping of dress shoes on linoleum and a gentle, higher pitched giggle.

Without even turning, Seijuurou could feel Midorima’s unimpressed stare upon his back and Takao’s stifled giggles of delight. “Shintarou, Takao,” He said calmly, releasing the brunet in his arms to continue his packing and turning to face the doctor and his nurse. A smile threatened to curl at his lips again at the sight of the two – Midorima standing straight and strong, clipboard in one hand, the other pushing up his glasses, and the smallest hints of a blush across his cheekbones, and Takao, both hands curled tightly around the taller man’s arm and a lopsided grin on his lips – “I’m glad to you see you both, how are you two?”

“Irrelevant,” Midorima answered softly, a fond look in his eyes he tried to hide behind the glint of his glasses, “the question is whether or not Furihata is alright.”

“Yeah, Furi, how ya’ feeling?” Takao chirped, hands releasing the doctor as he swept past Seijuurou to see the brunet, a warm smile crinkling his silvery eyes.

“I’m fine, thank you,” He heard his lover answer softly, the rustling of clothes as they were folded and placed gently in the old sports bag.

“Shintarou,” he muttered softly, eyes twinkling with mischief and a fond kind of nostalgia, “how’re you and Takao doing?”

Soft red bloomed across the other’s high cheekbones and he quietly cleared his throat, “fine,” he answered curtly, “what of it?”

“Ah,” his eyes narrowed in sly amusement, “I just noticed that you two have become much…closer since the last time I saw you.”

Midorima’s emerald eyes shifted to the right and over Seijuurou’s head in an attempt to hide his embarrassment, “nothing ever escapes you, does it?” he muttered under his breath, a huff of a sigh following it, “I guess you could say…we’ve become closer.”

“Congratulations, Shintarou. It’s about time, really.”

He furrowed his brows, “why does everyone keep saying that?”

A small chuckle bubbled at his lips, and he eyed his old friend in fond exasperation, “really, Shintarou? You must know that you’ve been making heart-eyes at Takao since high school, and Takao has been no better. We’ve all been waiting for this since the Winter Cup in our first year.”

Another blush spread across Midorima’s cheeks as he shifted nervously foot to foot, “enough about us, what about yourself and Furihata?” He gave Seijuurou a significant look, “I spoke with Kuroko when Furihata was checked in.”

It was Seijuurou’s turn to look away, his eyes focused on the faint smudge of dirt on the inside of the doorframe, and for a moment he listened to the faint murmur of Takao and Kouki muttering and giggling behind him, Takao’s – surprisingly – quiet squeal of delight and Kouki’s nervous laugh. He looked back up into Midorima’s expectant eyes, one of his green eyebrows raised in question, “I love him.”

“Are you rea-”

“Yes. I’m ready.” He turned to look at the brunet who had his back to him, “I just hope he is.” He caught Takao’s eye over Kouki’s shoulder, and the nurse gave him a mischievous wink and an encouraging smile. 

Kouki turned to face him, sports bag zipped up and in hand and a small grin pulling at his mouth, “I’m all packed now, Sei.”

He nodded to his boyfriend and held his hand out for him to grab, when he heard Midorima mutter in his deep voice just under his breath, “I think he is ready, Akashi.”

* * *

The walk back from the hospital to their shared apartment was tranquil, filled with the brushing of their hands as they walked, and the chilled winter breeze that lifted Kouki’s bronze locks up and around his face, sparkling flakes of powdery snow dancing through them and making Kouki shiver slightly. Seijuurou had Kouki’s overnight bag swung over his shoulder so that Kouki could lean on his crutch with one hand and gently grasp the bouquet of red camellias in the other. _Did you know that red camellias symbolise the state of being in love_ , he’d murmured into Kouki’s ear as they’d left the hospital, and the stuttered _thank you_ and accompanying rosy blush swept the last of Seijuurou’s drowsiness from him in a wave of affection. As Seijuurou stared down at the bouquet in the brunet’s hand, he noted that Kouki had crisp, pristine white bandages wrapped gently around his temples, and Seijuurou could spot similar wrappings around his lifted ankle, but the repetitive motion of the crutch the brunet leaned on swayed in front of his leg enough that Seijuurou couldn’t dwell on it, and for that he was thankful.

Guilt swirled in Seijuurou’s stomach as he though back to the surprising… _relief_ he felt that he had not been the one to find Kouki, unconscious and injured in their apartment. He had been appalled at himself for feeling that way, but the fact of the matter was, Seijuurou would never have bene able to erase the image of his hurt lover from his mind, and he was sure it would have haunted him if he had been there to witness it. He despaired at the thought of Kouki hurt and vulnerable, but despaired even more at the thought of reliving that moment in his mind over and over until no memory could possibly ever cover it. Was he really so selfish? That even when Kouki was–

“Sei?” Kouki was standing just in front of him, leaning heavily on his crutch, arms wrapped his middle to hold in some heat – the vivid red flowers hanging from his loosely clasped hand – and wide eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

Seijuurou glanced at their surroundings, and found that they had already arrived at their apartment building, the clear glass doors displaying the warm foyer beyond it. He cleared his throat slightly, “I’m fine, Kouki. I was merely thinking about something.”

“For work?”

“Hmm?” He murmured as he pushed the doors open and ushered Kouki in, “oh, yes, yes.” He knew he sounded distracted, but he had never particularly enjoyed lying to the brunet, and yet this was exactly the kind of thing he would never want the brunet to know. Oh, if he knew the selfish thoughts of his boyfriend, would they even last? The thought made him shudder. “We’ll take the elevator, I don’t want you to strain that ankle of yours.” He had always been good at changing the subject, and based on the curious look Kouki sent him, the other knew he had done so deliberately.

“You have the keys, right?” Kouki asked quietly as the approached their apartment, the hallway silent and surprisingly dark for mid-morning.

He answered by shoving the key in the aging lock, the metal squealing softly as it turned and the door opened up to their entrance way. “Welcome home,” he murmured, turning and placing a chaste kiss on Kouki’s forehead, worry seeping into his tone, “I’m glad you’re back safe and sound.”

Kouki gazed up at him, a small smile pulling at his thin lips and his eyes crinkling around the edges in what Seijuurou had discovered years ago was affection, “me too, Sei. I’m sorry I worried you.”

He smiled back and turned, removing his coat and placing it on the rack, levelling a thoughtful stare at the pocket of his duffle coat he wore yesterday, before turning and helping Kouki out of his coat. It had to be perfect.

“Kouki?”

“Hmm?”

“Are we free tonight?”

Kouki looked up from carefully removing his shoes, wincing as he pulled a little too hard on his injured foot, his whole body gently tipping back until his back leant against the wall behind him, “isn’t that what you messaged me last night?” His head tilted to one side in thought, “It’s the same as last night, I think. We’re free tonight as well. Why?”

He hoped his hands weren’t noticeably shaking, or that the catch in his breath couldn’t be heard from across the entrance way. “I want to go out for dinner tonight,” He looked up at Kouki from under his lashes, “remember the place we had our first official date at?”

The brunet’s expression visibly brightened, “that place with the really good seaweed salad?”

“Yes,” his nose crinkled in distaste, “I believe that is what you said last time.”

A chuckle slipped through Kouki’s lips at Seijuurou’s expression, “what’s the occasion?” He limped over to the red-head, his arms circling the other’s neck and he leant on him, Seijuurou’s arms coming around his waist in turn.

“Does there need to be an occasion? Can I not take my beloved out for dinner simply because I wish to?” He nuzzled into the other’s neck, causing another chuckle to slip past the brunet’s lips, “I wish to spoil you, my dear.” He hoped Kouki couldn’t feel his pulse racing in his throat.

“Well, if that’s the case,” he placed a soft kiss against Seijuurou’s temple, “I’m in.”

* * *

“Are you ready to go, Kouki?” Seijuurou was standing in the entrance way, waiting for Kouki and patting down the pockets of his coat. Keys, check, wallet, check, ring, check… “Kouki?”

There was the slight sound of shifting clothing, the bump of the dresser against the walls, and a muffled groan, followed by a weak “I’ll be there in a minute, Sei.”

“Kouki?” He could feel worry bubbling in his gut when there was no answer, and swiftly decided to check on the other. The door to their bedroom was slightly ajar, and he could still hear the rustling of clothing from beyond it. As he pushed the door open with his fingertips, he spotted Kouki standing in the middle of the room, one hand braced against their dresser drawers and the other clutching at his still bandaged forehead.

He strode across the room quickly, his hands fluttering uselessly around Kouki, “are you alright? What’s wrong? Is your head hurting? Shall we go back to the hospital? I can–”

“Sei, sei, it’s alright.” Kouki muttered breathlessly, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the dark wood underneath his fingers, “my head’s just…hurting a bit more than before.”

“But–”

“Midorima and Takao told me this might happen,” he looked up at Seijuurou with weary eyes and a tired smile, “it’s alright. Really. I’ll be good to go in a few minutes.”

“No…no it’s alright, Kouki,” he stroked the other’s hair in comforting swipes of his fingertips, “it was irresponsible of me to assume you would be fine to go out tonight.”

“Honestly, Sei, I’ll be fine–”

He smiled softly at his lover, “I’ll order takeout from your favourite place, alright?” he repressed his sigh as he thought of the velvet box in his pocket, “as long as we’re spending time together, I don’t mind at all.” He helped Kouki lower himself to the edge of the bed, hands gently, but firmly guiding him until he was steady. He heard Kouki mutter his thanks regretfully under his breath, and knew that making the most of their time at home was the only way to cheer him up. He loosened his tie with one hand, the other coming up to ruffle his red locks, a gentle smile tugging at his mouth, “I love you.”

Kouki smiled back at him weakly from the bed, “I love you too, Sei.”

The two swiftly changed from their dress clothes into their pyjamas, Seijuurou holding Kouki’s sweatpants clad hips in place as he unsteadily pulled his white t-shirt over his head, the brunet giving him a dizzy smile as he finally shifted the garment into place. Seijuurou had called for takeout from a little corner shop two streets away from their apartment that they had discovered in their first week living there. The place was owned by as old married couple that treated the two like family, and served the most delicious chicken and sweet corn soup, something that had brought a smile to Kouki’s face when he had first tasted it all those years ago, something that Seijuurou hoped would bring a smile to his face again.

“Dinner will be here soon,” He smiled softly over at Kouki as he hung up the phone, watching as the other sat staring thoughtfully at the news broadcast playing on the television behind Seijuurou. The two were sitting at the kotatsu in their living room, feet tucked under the warm, cream quilt and legs crossed in a manner similar to a child in a classroom. Kouki was absentmindedly rubbing at his temple, a wince fluttering through his frame whenever he pressed a little too hard at the tender spots, a hazy look in his chestnut eyes.

“Oh, good,” he said distractedly, before focusing his eyes on the red head sitting across from him, “thank you, Sei.” He smiled warmly, his unoccupied hand stretching across the small table and grabbing Seijuurou’s tightly, “I’m sorry about tonight.”

“It’s alright, Kouki.” He sighed in fond exasperation, this had to be the twentieth time he had told Kouki he didn’t mind, “honestly.”

“Okay,” Kouki murmured softly, hand still grasping Seijuurou’s, but eyes turned back to the newscast.

 _How awfully…domestic of us._ Seijuurou thought as he looked around the room, noting the warm, amber light from the lamp next the chocolate coloured couch that Kouki was leaning against, the soft, coffee hued rug underneath them, the framed picture depicting their lives one step at a time, from high school to college to now…their fingers intertwined on the table between them–

“You know, I really was looking forward to going out tonight, and it’s a shame we couldn’t, but, well…” Kouki peeked at Seijuurou through the corner of his eye, eyelids lowered so that only a thin strip of his caramel eyes were exposed beneath the thick lashes, “this is very…us, isn’t it? Well, how we are now, anyway. It’s perfect, really.”

Seijuurou felt something catch in his throat at Kouki’s words, a flicker of both surprise and realisation settling somewhere deep in his chest. _“It’s perfect, really”_ – how could he have not realised sooner?

“Of course,” he breathed. Kouki’s eyebrows shot up in question, but Seijuurou was too lost in thought to notice. They may have once been about fancy dinners and dress wear, formalities and gaudy elegance – and by _they_ , he meant _him_ – but that wasn’t it anymore. It wasn’t about impressing each other, newly bloomed romance that tore through them like angered butterflies and nerves that caught them at their most inconvenient, no, they were past that. So far past that, in fact, Seijuurou almost slapped his hand to his forehead for not realising that trying to ask Kouki to continue in their relaxed, comfortable, _domestic_ , lifestyle in the most formal way they had been in years would be almost counterproductive.

“Sei? You alright?” Kouki was waving a hand in front of his face, eyebrows scrunched down in confusion.

“Kouki,” he startled, gazing at the other with an intensity Kouki was sure was meant only for basketball.

“Y-Yes?”

Seijuurou’s unoccupied hand shot out and grabbed the hand Kouki was using to rub at his sore temple, their fingers intertwined in the centre of the kotatsu, the warmth of the electric heater hidden beneath the wood making hands sweaty – well, at least that’s what Seijuurou told himself. He stared into Kouki’s eyes, his lips pursed seriously and his attention undivided. “Kouki, I hope you can forgive me, I’ve been very selfish.”

“Wha–”

“I was only thinking of myself, obviously, not us, like I should have been,” his eyes fluttered down to the table between them, eyes narrowing in displeasure, “I don’t know how I couldn’t have seen it before.”

“Selfish? Sei, what’re you–”

He looked back up into Kouki’s eyes, the crimson brighter and more intense than Kouki had ever seen it, “I thought that in order for this to be perfect, it had to be official, formal, exactly how every movie Kise insists that we watch with him depicts it. It had to be as gaudy and elegant as I was once, but that’s not _us._ Not anymore, is it, Kouki, dear?” He took in a deep breath and squared his shoulders, “I’ve been selfish because I thought I could decide for you what was _us_. I’ve been selfish because I was only thinking of how worried and anxious and _terrified_ I was when you were – are – hurt. I’m selfish, my love, because I won’t ever, ever let you go.”

“Sei–”

“Marry me.”

Kouki stared at him blankly for a moment before turning his head slowly to eye the couch behind him. He turned back for a moment, eyes filled with confusion, “eh?” his eyes flashed down to his pyjama clad frame, especially paying attention to his shaking hands and bandaged ankle, “me?”

Seijuurou felt a chuckle bubble on his lips, eye glittering in amusement – a vast contrast to the seriousness of a few moments ago – “yes, Kouki,” he rubbed along the back of the brunet’s hand with his thumb, “you.”

The red head stood slowly, reluctantly releasing Kouki’s hands as he went, and swiftly strode over to the coat rack, his hand rummaging about one of his coat pockets for a moment before he stepped back, his hand clasped around something and a determined look in his eye. He stopped before the seated man – still too stunned to stand – and crouched down on one knee, eyes glinting with amusement, again, as Kouki’s mouth opened in a gape. “Let’s stay together forever, shall we?”

Kouki’s hands were limp on the table – which looked rather awkward, as the rest of his body was turned towards Seijuurou, who was crouching at his side – so when his teeth started to chatter, he could only clamp them together with an audible clack. “I, I,” he took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes, “I,” he exhaled through his nose and opened his eyes again before throwing his arms around Seijuurou’s neck and clinging to him with all of his strength, “I guess I’m selfish too, then. I can’t let you go, Sei, not now, not ever,” he rubbed his nose along the column of the other’s neck and placed gentle kisses at his hairline, “of course. Of course. Yes. I love you.”

Seijuurou smiled softly at his now fiancé, “and I love you.”

* * *

“Alright,” the phone clicked shut in his hand, “you owe me twenty dollars, Aomine.”

Kuroko’s voice rang out in the quiet living room, the only sounds being Aomine and Kagami’s – for once – quiet bickering, and the murmur of the television across the room. Aomine stared up at Kuroko for a moment with narrowed, navy blue eyes, “and what for, exactly?”

A small smile curled at the shorter man’s mouth as Kagami and Aomine both stared at him expectedly, “remember our bet?”

Realisation dawned on Kagami’s face, before a soft grin took over. He turned to look at Aomine, who was resting his head comfortably on Kagami’s shoulder, and murmured softly, “looks like you lost, idiot,” Aomine sputtered indignantly into the red head’s neck before Kagami continued, “you really should know better than to bet against Kuroko. I mean, remember when you bet that I would be the one to crack and ask you out first? How much money did you lose that time?”

Aomine winced and pushed his head off Kagami’s shoulder, an annoyed pout pulling at his lips, “that was because you were an oblivious idiot who didn’t even know I liked you.” He turned and looked the red head seriously in the eye, “I mean, seriously, why would I have tried to make you a birthday cake if I didn’t like you? If I didn’t ask you out, we would probably still be dancing around each like lunatics, idiot.”

Both Kagami and Kuroko flinched at the reminder of Kagami’s nineteenth birthday “cake” – if you could be so generous to even call it that.

“And I’m sure I’d have been making money out of that, as well.” Kuroko muttered wistfully, a small sigh escaping him in something that sounded suspiciously like regret.

Kagami snorted under his breath and Aomine gracefully ignored Kuroko’s surprising fixation on making money out of his friends’ misfortunes. “So, Akashi proposed then?” Aomine sighed, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out his wallet, “about bloody time.” He thumbed through the notes before taking out a wad – a much bigger wad of money than Aomine ever wanted to see be removed from his wallet again – and handing it over to Kuroko with a grimace.

“Indeed,” Kuroko flicked his fingertips over the notes, counting out the money in his palm with a small, near invisible grin, before placing them in his pants pocket and looking back up at the two sitting on the couch before him, “now, how long will it take you, Aomine?”

The two’s embarrassed stammers were music to his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I may have used the prompts 'ring' and 'flower' too. I couldn't resist.


End file.
